


Loving Father, Devoted Husband

by andchaos



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:08:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2687183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchaos/pseuds/andchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lip was twenty when he understood.</p><p>All fathers, he knew with sharp clarity, were fucking useless.</p><p> </p><p>Or how Lip screwed his way through three girlfriends and never figured out how to help them right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loving Father, Devoted Husband

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: daddy issues, AKA canonical emotional abuse that all of lip's ex's dads hurled at their daughters
> 
> Other warnings include language and mentions of (non-explicit) sex. Oh, and a brief mention of Ian's bipolarity at the end (post-medication & therapy).

          Lip was in the Alibi, bickering with Iggy and Mickey Milkovich in a manner that was only _slightly_ hostile, when Frank came stumbling in.

          “Well, look who it is!” Frank shouted out, making his way over to Lip and plopping down on the seat next to him at the bar. “My eldest male progeny! The fruit of my loins!”

          “Hey, asshole,” said Lip, turning to his father. They waited until Kev filled up Frank’s glass, then clinked their drinks together and took simultaneous sips. Almost like proper family.

          “What are you doing down here in the middle of the day?” Frank asked, squinting at his son like he was trying and failing to get him into focus. “Don’t you have some big-shot college to ride off to on your high horse?”

          “It’s Saturday, Dad,” said Lip. “Jesus, you should know that. Doesn’t Sheila have her weekly book club or whatever on Fridays?”

          “Nah, she gave that up months ago,” said Frank, waving his hand in the air like the idea was physically bothering him. “And I’ll tell you, I don’t blame her. There’s no money in that! How is that supposed to support me _and_ my daughter _and_ my grandson? I told her _years_ ago that there was nothing in books, but does she listen? _No!_ But she’s been spending all of my hard-earned cash on books for her prissy little book club. I ask you, what’s left for _me_? And now here we are, knee deep in the thick of it, and for what? So my lead-headed son can go off to college! And now here you are, underage and drunk on a _Saturday_. Why aren’t you in school? You see, this is what I’m talking about; the whole system is collapsing. I’ve been saying it for years! But does anyone learn their lesson? Does anyone listen to _me_? No!”

          Frank had wandered up and away during his monologue, shouting his ramblings to the entire bar. Lip, like most of the regular patrons, were well-versed in ignoring him when he went off on his tangents. He went back to heckling Mickey and drinking his beer, at least until Frank finished his little speech and sank back down into his seat, rapping his knuckles on the top of the bar so that Kev would refill his glass. Kev obliged, rolling his eyes.

          “You know, Frank,” Kev said while he poured, “You’re a month late on the last bar tab. What’ve you got?”

          Grumbling about the establishment again, Frank pulled out whatever bills he had loose in his pockets and slapped them on the countertop.

          “You’re still sixty-four dollars short, man,” said Kev, counting the money carefully before throwing it into the register. “Come on, pay up. I can’t keep giving you freebies, Kate’s gonna have my ass.”

          Despite himself, Lip was drawn into the conversation. He peered incredulously over the top of his glass and said, “Kev, dude, aren’t you _her_ boss?”

          Kev flipped him a look, rolling his eyes. “You try telling that to her,” he said, nodding down the bar to where Kate was filling someone’s mug and chatting over the counter. When she sensed eyes on her, she turned around, flipped off Kev, and returned to her conversation.

          “She’s all yours,” said Lip, grinning. He lifted his glass a little in a mock toast.

          “Thanks,” said Kev sourly. “Seriously, Frank, I need that money. V and I spent most of our squirrel fund on diapers and fuckin’ squashed banana or some shit. If we’re late on the bills again, V’s gonna have to go back to that internet porn shit she was into a few years ago. And I’d rather not have the twins find their mother’s boobs on the internet when they go search for porn in a few years!”

          “Alright, alright,” said Frank irritably. “I’ll get the money. I just need a day or two.”

          “No way, man. I can’t do it!” Kev pressed his palms heavily into the bar top, anxious and earnest as he leaned over it. “I need that money by _tonight_. I swear to God, I’ll ban you for a week if you don’t pay up.”

          “Fine!” said Frank. “Now would you _relax_? I’ll get the cash!”

          “You’d better. I’m serious,” said Kev. He leveled one more meaningful glare at Frank before moving away to attend to something in the back room.

          Frank immediately turned to Lip. “You got any money?”

          Lip gave a harsh laugh. “Yeah, right. Like I’d really give my spare bills to you.”

          “Come on, son,” Frank begged, grabbing at his arm. “I need this! After all I’ve done for you over the years.”

          “Yeah.” Lip said the word slowly, drawing it out. He drained his beer and got to his feet, pulling his arm firmly from his father’s grasp. “You’re really not helping your own case there, you know.” He wrapped his scarf around his neck and went down to the other end to pay his tab directly to Kate, mostly because he didn’t trust Frank not to wander off with whatever he might put down for Kev to find.

          “Fine!” Frank yelled at his back as he made for the exit. “Who needs you? Fucking ungrateful piece of shit!”

          Lip scoffed as he pushed his way out into the bitter Chicago air. He had known for years, really, that Frank was a worthless asshole, but most of that time his understanding of the depth of it all had been skewed by rage and hatred and desperation for a better dad. This was different; he didn’t care about Frank at all, not anymore, so the thought that came to him as he made his way down the street seemed sudden and new.

          All fathers, he knew with sharp clarity, were fucking useless.

 

 

* * *

  

 

Karen’s father was never angrier than when he called her a whore.

          He only did it the once, but it strung her out, the word digging its way into her head, wrapping around her brain and fucking her up from the inside-out. She sheared off her hair with scissors made from his curses and inked his betrayal into her skin, a violent reminder that she, too, was fucked for life. Everybody was. But if she turned her weaknesses into strengths, and dressed herself in armor made from her own worst nightmares, nothing could ever tear her down. At the very least, Lip surmised as much, even though he knew that she was much more vulnerable than she wanted anyone to believe.

          When Lip had first heard of Eddie’s indiscretion (a weepy Sheila filled him in on some of the finer details over rum-and-cokes and chicken wings, as Karen still refused to talk about any of what had happened that night), he had seriously considered hunting down and strangling him himself. Sheila had begged him not to, of course, though not out of any residual love for her ex-husband; rather, she wanted to track him down herself, if only so that she could beg Frank to deal with him. Gratified at the prospect of Eddie getting what he deserved, with the added bonus that Frank, in all likelihood, would be indicted and imprisoned for assault (at the very least) or murder (Lip could hope, couldn’t he?), Lip had decided not to attack Eddie after all.

          Instead, he spent increasing amounts of time with Karen. On some level, he supposed he cared about her and wanted to make her feel better, no matter how many times she rebuffed him. However, her repeated rejections of exclusivity forced him to repress and ignore his feelings, and instead rely on their current friends-with-benefits arrangement. Given the options, he would choose to have her any way he could, rather than not at all.

          After Karen dyed her hair and before she and Lip fucked their way to “I don’t love you,” the two of them were lying on their backs on the Jacksons’ lawn, clothes off and eyes staring up at the clear night sky. Their chests rose and fell in quiet synchronization, goosebumps rising up on their naked skin. Without saying a word, Lip reached across the small distance and wrapped his hand around hers, sliding their clasped hands closer to his waist on the blanket beneath their bodies, his ankle knocking against hers. He stretched her arm above him and kissed lightly at the tattoo on her left arm, pressing his lips against each individual letter inscribed on her skin like he was hoping his mouth could erase the scar.

          He wanted to ask her if she ever regretted it, but he knew that would only start a fight, and he was too relaxed right now to scream. They seemed to be doing too much of that lately.

          “What are you doing?” she asked, voice small and quiet. Her dark hair fell further along her bare shoulders as she turned her head towards him, her fingers tightening in his. The movement seemed more of a precursor to pulling away than borne of a desire to tether him to her side.

          “I don’t know,” he said, voice teasing, a playful smile darting around the corners of his lips. “Am I not allowed to touch you?”

          “You’ve been touching me all night,” said Karen with an answering smile meant purely to distract. She rolled fully onto her side and reached across his body to run a finger over the tattoo on his chest. “You touched me here,” she added slowly, bringing their twined hands back towards herself and uncurling Lip’s hand, settling it over her breast. “And here,” she added, scooting closer so that Lip’s arm could extend further over her and she could place his hand on her ass. “And here,” she whispered, guiding his hand between her legs. She gasped, and he abandoned her arm, pulling her closer and kissing at her throat instead.

          For the second (but not final) time that night, Lip fucked her good and hard and tried to tell her with the hands he dragged along her ribs and the tongue he traced across her neck, _I love you, I love you, I love you_. But he knew she didn’t want to hear it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Mandy’s father was never prouder than when he called her a whore.

          Lip tried never to stay at the Milkoviches’ if he could help it, but some nights Mandy talked him into spending the night, after dinner or when he’d smoked just a little too much. One night, after three joints split between them and twice as many beers, he stumbled into the bathroom. Mandy found him five minutes later, hunched over and dry heaving into the toilet.

          “Fuckin’ spins,” he grunted, clutching at his stomach.

          Mandy kneeled down beside him, raking one hand through his sweaty hair. She stared blankly at her hand for a solid minute, and when Lip glanced over he noticed that her eyes were just slightly out of focus. He wondered how far gone she was. Abruptly, she jolted, snapping out of whatever had kept her beside him. She used her knees to push herself to her feet.

          “I’ll get you some water,” she said, and stroking his hair one more time, she exited the bathroom.

          He lost track of time; every second felt like an eternity when the walls were tumbling around and his stomach felt like an ocean was roiling inside him. His vision swam.

          Mandy returned eventually, carrying a glass of water that she shoved into his hands when he wouldn’t take it voluntarily, slightly convinced that he would fall off the earth if he didn’t stay clutching the toilet.

          “Drink that whole thing,” Mandy instructed him sternly. She wrinkled her nose when he retched again. “Jesus, you can’t go home like this. You have to stay here tonight.”

          “I don’t need you babying me.”

          “You’re fucking staying here tonight!”

          Lip tried to argue, but when he did manage to look up from the toilet, she had already gone. After awhile he thought he would be okay if he just closed his eyes, so he got unsteadily to his feet and, after sloshing around a mouthful of water and spitting it into the sink, he ambled out of the bathroom. He flipped off Mickey as he passed through his bedroom, barely listening to what he was saying about how fucking disgusting it was to hear Lip puking for half an hour and couldn’t he handle his liquor like a fucking man? He didn’t need to hear about being tough from a guy who would rather get locked up for theft than come clean about liking it up the ass from scrawny redheads. As far as Lip was concerned, anyone too afraid of their own _feelings_ were infinitely more pathetic than someone who got the spins; at least when he’d been with Karen, he could admit he’d been whipped.

          He padded into Mandy’s room, quietly in case she was asleep, but she rolled over as soon as he closed the door.

          “Took you long enough,” she snorted, rolling back over as soon as she saw it was him.

          “Yeah.” He sat down heavily on the bed, pulling his shirt up over his head and tossing it into the corner of her room. “Your dickhead brother was giving me shit.”

          “Ignore him,” she said, flipping onto her stomach so that she could fling an arm over his waist as soon as he laid down. “He’s a fucking asshole.”

          Lip gave a harsh, dry laugh. “I know.”

          Mandy had closed her eyes; he bent to kiss the top of her head before settling back more comfortably into the pillows. Closing his eyes did tamp down the nausea a bit. It was all so much easier to handle when he couldn’t actually _see_ the ceiling twirl, even if it still felt like the bed was out at sea during a particularly rough storm.

          “Advil in the bedside table if you get sick,” Mandy mumbled, sounding half-asleep. She burrowed closer to his chest. “Oh. And my dad’s getting paroled tomorrow, so fuck off before two.”

          “More than happy to,” said Lip.

          They fell asleep quickly after that, the beer making them sleepy, the weed tempering their heartbeats until the tempos matched, slow and calm.

 

          Lip awoke alone.

          He startled awake, actually, the sounds of something breaking in the kitchen dragging him to consciousness. Knowing full well how shitty most of the Milkoviches were at cooking, he just groaned and shoved his face back in a pillow, hoping to fall back asleep while whoever was in the kitchen cleaned up their mess and continued making breakfast. However, voices started soon after that, negating his hopes of going back to bed.

          “It’s fine. I’ve got it. I said it’s _fine_! Would you _fuck off_?” Lip recognized Mandy’s voice, and he sighed, drumming his fingers on his bare stomach and wondering if he should go defend her in her fight against whomever she was yelling at; he assumed it was Iggy or Joey, as none of the others ever woke up before noon. Although, Mandy usually slept in as well—jumping at any opportunity to initiate morning sex. He sat up, rubbing at his eyes and listening harder to the escalating quarrel outside.

          “Alright, alright. Calm down,” said someone else.

          “ _Don’t_ tell me to calm down!” Mandy shouted, sounding moderately hysterical. “That was the last fucking bottle, fuckhead! We’re fucking dead!”

          “Oh, shit,” said the other. Lip thought it was Mickey, but he couldn’t really tell his girlfriend’s brothers apart by voice alone. “Do we have time to run to the store?”

          “Before he gets out of the bathroom?” Mandy said, loud and sardonic, like she thought her brother was an idiot for even asking. “Maybe you can stop and pick out grave plots on your way home, asshole! We’re gonna need them!”

          “Well shit, Mandy, I don’t fucking know!”

          “Shut up!” she said then, and there was the sound of a door slamming further back in the house, and silence.

          Lip got slowly to his feet and began searching for his discarded t-shirt, wondering if he could slip out of the house before whatever shit was about to hit the fan, did. He had just managed to pull his shirt out from between Mandy’s dresser and a shelving unit that only held shot glasses, empty beer bottles, three different bongs, makeup, and a book or two, before a new voice rang through the house, as clear as cut glass.

          “Who drank all the beer?”

          “Oh, shit,” Lip muttered, and without even pulling his shirt over his head, he ran out of the room.

          “Hey, Dad.”

          Lip was right, as he saw when he skidded to a stop in the living room; Mickey and Mandy were in the kitchen, both looking pale and shaken. Neither of them had seemed to notice him, both of them focused on someone just out of sight.

          “They let you out already, huh?”

          “I thought you weren’t supposed to be back ‘til this afternoon,” said Mandy, one arm propped up on the counter, presumably to stop her hands from shaking visibly.

          “Yeah,” said Mickey, giving a strained smile. “They usually call us. We woulda picked you up.”

          “Yeah, right,” said Terry. He sounded like he didn’t really care whether his kids came to get him from prison or not. “Figured you’d be too drunk to drive, what with _drinking all my fucking beer_!” He was shouting by the end of this, and his kids shrank back minutely as his voice rose.

          Lip took that as his cue to go. Except, as he started to edge for the door, Mandy’s attention snagged on the movement in her peripherals, and her gaze snapped to him. Lip froze. Mandy cut her eyes back to her father, but it was too late.

          “The fuck are you lookin’ at?” Terry asked roughly, and he leaned forward so that he could see through into the living room. “Well, well, well,” he boomed out, striding forward a bit so that he was in the doorway and could properly assess Lip. Lip didn’t move, his shirt still clutched in his hands. Terry eyed him up and down, then glanced over his shoulder at Mandy. “Another one of yours?”

          Mandy hesitated. Lip knew she wanted to argue the implications of that statement, but she didn’t dare. “Yes,” she muttered eventually, focused on something slightly to the right of her father’s head, giving the impression that she was looking at him without having to actually do it.

          “Good little whore, eh?” said Terry, cracking a half smile. “Just like your mother.”

          “Yeah,” she whispered again, eyes on the floor. Mickey twitched, like he wanted to comfort her but wasn’t stupid enough to do it, not yet.

          “Well?” said Terry after a moment’s silence. “What are you waiting for? Take him back to your room and get on with it.” His eyes lingered on Lip a second longer.

          Mandy didn’t pause, just pushed past her brother and father, storming through the living room. Without even glancing at him, she grabbed Lip’s arm as she passed. She dragged him away from the voices in the kitchen, which were raising in volume again, arguing over Terry’s beer.

          They collapsed together onto her bed, Mandy shoving Lip down and climbing into his lap.

          “Mandy—” Lip protested while she dragged her teeth over the pulse point in his throat. “Are you—”

          She pulled back, just slightly. Just for a moment.

          “I need this,” she said. Lip hesitated, then nodded. Her lips returned to his neck; his arms immediately wrapped around her, and he squeezed her gently, once, before reaching to unhook her bra.

          Mandy pretended she couldn’t hear her brother’s grunts as her father lay into him outside. Lip pretended not to notice when her eyes screwed shut, like she was about to cry.

          He knew then exactly how much they needed each other.

          Lip fucked her fast and hard and hoped that, afterwards, when they lay shirtless on her bed with her skirt hiked up  and one of her boots beside them, that when she took his cigarette and brought it to her lips she could taste the words he had breathed into it: _I need you, I need you, I need you_. But he hated how good she was for him, and when offered, he didn’t ever want her help.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Amanda’s father would never, ever call her a whore outright, but he had other ways of wounding her.

          “So,” Jason said one afternoon, when he opened the door to their expansive (overly so, in Lip’s opinion) home to reveal his daughter’s boyfriend standing on the porch, “You’re still in the picture, are you?”

          “Guess so,” said Lip, flashing him a smile. Without waiting to be properly invited inside, Lip stepped over the threshold, pushing past the man struck dumb in the doorway. He wound his way up the staircase in the foyer with barely a second glance.

          Amanda was in her room, as predicted. She was laying backwards on her bed, ankles hooked together in the air over her pillows. Lip, having months ago gotten over his initial shock over the intense purples and pinks marking up her bedroom, dropped his backpack in the usual spot next to the door and launched himself onto her bed next to her. He bounced a little, and the notes she had been pouring over fluttered up into the air, the textbooks surrounding her tumbling to the floor.

          “Lip!” she yelled, annoyed, and she shoved at his shoulder. Even as he slid to the ground, he was laughing.

          “Alright, alright,” he said, jumping up again. Grinning like a maniac, he leaned down and, despite her half-hearted protests, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her firmly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

          “You will be,” she muttered, pulling away. She wound a hand around his wrist and dragged him down beside her. “I’ve got three exams on Monday, and if I fail because of you, I will hunt you down and gut you with this pencil.”

          “You won’t fail,” he said, rolling his eyes. As she went to gather her papers from the floor, Lip kicked back against her pillows, arms behind his head, and asked, “Hey, isn’t that illegal? Gotta be against school policy, at least.”

          “What is?” she said idly.

          “Bunching exams like that? You know, I bet I could talk to the—”

          “What world do you live in?” she demanded irritably. “I’ve got exams, that’s that! Now are you going to help me study or do I have to kick you out?”

          Rolling his eyes, he did consent to help her study. He retrieved his backpack and they took turns quizzing each other. At some point her mother popped her head in and, with what looked like a very painful smile, invited him to stay for dinner. Lip just grinned flippantly again and accepted. Aside from the personal elation he felt at pissing these people off, Amanda’s willingness to fuck seemed to be inversely proportional to her parent’s mood; the angrier they were, the more likely she was to jump him as soon as they were alone.

          It wasn’t the same kind of danger that he was used to in relationships, but it had a certain unnatural edge that he enjoyed almost as much.

          They finally took a break from studying around seven-thirty, when Amanda’s mother called them down for dinner. Sheryl and Jason were already seated when the teenagers arrived, a magnificent dinner on the table. As long as he and Amanda had been seeing each other, Lip still wasn’t quite used to how much _money_ she had; the dining room looked like it was housing a feast. He had never gone hungry back at home, but there was a difference between the discount chicken Fiona usually brought home and the (clearly expensive) dinner set before him now. Ever the opportunist, Lip neither marveled nor hesitated, but dove straight for a seat and ushered Amanda to sit as well. The first time he had stayed over for dinner, Lip had made the mistake of jumping straight into the meal, but he was wiser now, if not still bored and superior about the whole thing. Amanda’s family always said grace first, which Lip still thought was a little weird, but he supposed it was easy to believe in God when you had porterhouse steak looking you in the face every night. The only time the Gallaghers ever ate fancy was during their grandmother’s brief stay with them or when someone peed for a drug-addicted government employee.

          Jason and Sheryl were still prone to be quiet around Lip, which he found relieving. When they did speak to him, it was usually all subtly cutting remarks and pleas to leave their daughter. Thus dinner started in a relatively quiet fashion, occasional small talk permeating the clatters of silverware, before Sheryl finally attempted to break the tension.

          “So, honey,” she said, directing her attention to her daughter, “how’s studying going?”

          “Great,” said Amanda, smiling wide in a way that screamed of false innocence. “Lip’s amazing at helping me.” She tipped him a huge wink and reached over to squeeze his thigh. Lip rolled his eyes; the implications of her words were all bravado. They hadn’t even been studying for the same classes, and she hadn’t let him do anything more than kiss her hello since he’d gotten there.

          “That’s wonderful,” said Sheryl, her smile suddenly very forced.

          “Her last boyfriend was a straight A student,” said Jason suddenly. They all froze as they felt the mood shift. Lip guessed they didn’t know about Ron Kuzner. “He raised her scores by at least a half-letter grade.”

          “Good for him,” said Lip blandly. He speared something green on the end of his fork and shoved it into his mouth, and without swallowing added, “I’m sure he had nothing better to look at than textbooks while he was playing with himself in his room all the time.”

          Amanda smirked and looked away. Her parents choked briefly on their food.

          Sheryl recovered first, shaking herself back to propriety and sitting up a little straighter in her chair. The look she leveled him was cool and haughty, the warmth she generally pretended to have around him abandoned. “At least Colby had taken a purity vow.”

          Lip perked up. She wanted to bring his deviant sexual history into this? If she wanted to play, oh god, Lip could play.

          “My ex fucked a guy with a purity vow once. Guess we’re Eskimo brothers. Does that count?” he asked. “Wait, was that before or after her teen pregnancy?” Nevermind that that hadn’t been his baby. Thinking about all the shit Karen had put him through only stung a little, nowadays. “Before, it was definitely before. Oh yeah, and she tried to blow the gay out of my brother once. I’d say that makes her a lady of God, wouldn’t you?”

          At this point, Amanda was physically holding back her laughter, one hand clamped over her mouth, the other in a tight fist on her jeans.

          “Have you ever been to church, Phillip?” Jason asked, speaking over his red-faced wife before she had a chance to retort. He appeared to want to at least be able to claim the moral high ground when this was all through.

          “Not since Monica was going through a religious revelation,” he said, spooning copious quantities of sweet potato onto his plate. “Last time any of us was in a church, my brother was watching his boyfriend’s hooker wife baptize their kid. Pretty sure we’re not allowed on hallowed ground anymore.”

          And he finally managed to floor them into silence.

          If Sheryl and Jason had any virtues, Lip would count waiting until he went to the bathroom before they started yelling as one of them. He was halfway down the hallway on his way back for dessert when he paused, knowing they would be reaming out Amanda for his behavior.

          “…end up in jail before his twenty-fifth birthday!”

          Jason chimed in, “And if you’re not careful, young lady, you’ll be right there with him! And you know where you’ll end up? That same old Subic Bay whorehouse we found you in!”

          “Oh my _god_ ,” Amanda shouted back, “Do you really have _that_ little faith in me? I’ve been in my room studying for the last seven hours! You think I’m headed down the road of a major crime spree? Really?”

          “And we’re supposed to pretend we don’t know what you’ve been up to since that boy came by a few hours ago?” Sheryl said sternly. “You know what he’s like, you heard him—teen pregnancy! And all those things about his ex…you have _no_ idea what diseases he’s got festering down there—”

          “Oh, trust me, he’s cleaner than Colby,” said Amanda in a steely voice.

          Her parents fell momentarily silent, digesting that information. Then Jason spoke, hesitant and halting.

          “You…you _are_ still a virgin, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

          “If fifth base doesn’t count as a base.”

          “Oh my god,” they both said.

          “You know what?” said Amanda before they could recover, “I’m done with dinner. Thanks and everything, but I have to go finish studying with Lip.”

          He didn’t bother moving. She found him standing in the same spot when she came around the corner, but when he tried to reach out to comfort her, she shrugged him off.

          “Seriously, I’m alright,” she said, laughing a little. “My parents are assholes, but what are they going to do about it? Make me take _another_ vow of purity? I’m already a born-again Christian, and technically I haven’t broken any rules.”

          “You had me at ‘my parents are assholes’,” said Lip, and she relaxed a little. They shared a small smile, and this time she let him sling an arm around her shoulders. They had just started for the stairs when her parents, evidently under the impression that they had gone already, spoke again. Amanda stopped short, forcing him to copy her into immobility.

          “What are we going to do with her?” came Sheryl’s voice. She sounded shaken.

          “Nothing,” Jason answered firmly. He, too, sounded unsettled, though. “She’s just rebelling, and she thinks all this…with the lying, and that boy…she thinks that’s how to go about it. I guess we never gave her much room to rebel. It’s normal.”

          After a brief silence, Sheryl said, “But that’s just it, darling. I don’t know if she _was_ lying…Colby used to say things too, and that other boy from school…” So they did know about Ron? “…Jared, or whatever his name was…” Maybe not. “They implied things…”

          The ensuing quiet was tense, Lip could sense it from the hallway. And then Jason spoke, bitterly: “I guess no matter how you raise them, some things are just engrained in them. And knowing where we found her? It’s all genetics.”

          Amanda turned to ice at his side. Lip slowly pivoted, staring at her with wide eyes. She pulled away and he let her, but when she was halfway up the staircase she whipped around to glare at him.

          “Are you coming or not?” she asked harshly. He didn’t even have to consider it, hurrying after her before she had even continued up the stairs. He didn’t think he could stand to hear anything more from Jason and Sheryl tonight.

          Lip spent most nights with his head between her legs and maybe, if he was lucky, she would let him fuck her from behind. That night, with her anger and upset like a cloak settled over the whole room, he pressed his lips to the insides of her thighs and ran his fingertips over her breasts and thought, _This is fine, this is fine, this is fine_. They both prayed that one day it would be enough.

 

 

* * *

 

 

          Lip was smoking off the front porch when Ian came outside. Ian was stable now, taking medication twice daily, and they had even been able to reduce his therapy sessions down to once a fortnight. Ian still complained that he didn’t need to go even that often, but as much to Lip’s surprise as anyone else’s, Mickey Milkovich seemed to have a knack for convincing him to take care of himself.

          “It’s only fifty out,” Ian noted, taking the cigarette Lip offered him and taking a deep drag, eyes on his brother’s profile. “You didn’t grab a jacket or something?”

          “Yeah, yeah, Mom,” said Lip, but he was smiling a little as he snatched his cigarette back.

          “Fine, you dick,” said Ian, laughing. He lit up his own cigarette and leaned out over the railing, turning away from Lip and staring off down the street. “What are you doing out here, anyway?”

          Lip was quiet for awhile. “Saw Frank today,” he said eventually, as an indirect answer to his brother’s question.

          “Oh yeah?” said Ian, sounding only half-interested. He took another drag. Even though he’d quit smoking to join the army, his pills always made him jittery, and he’d picked the habit up again to calm down the shaking and nausea that always accompanied medicating.

          “Yeah.” Lip looked down, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “I don’t think I want kids, man.”

          Ian’s attention snapped back to him. “What? Why?”

          Lip shrugged, trying to play it off. “Come on. You really see me as a father?”

          “No, but since when has what someone else thinks ever stopped you from doing anything?” Ian shoved at his shoulder. “Come on, dude. I’m serious. What’s up with you? Is this about your girlfriend? What, does she want kids or something?”

          Lip shook his head, not bothering to stub out his cigarette before he flicked it onto the walkway. After about a minute, he finally looked up, meeting his brother’s eye. “Do you really think some Southside prick can grow up to be a good dad?”

          Ian sighed, staring back out at the street again. “I don’t know,” he said eventually. “Hasn’t stopped ‘em yet.”

          “Yeah…I guess I don’t want to go to college, you know, and do all this shit, only to wind up like Frank.”

          “What, alcoholic and negligent?”

          “I was thinking more along the lines of a shitty father with a list of kids longer than his bar tab.”

          Ian smiled, a little sadly. “Yeah, well…At least you’ve got the option,” he pointed out.

          Even though Lip knew he was more concerned about the improbability of Mickey wanting children, he grinned back and chose the more lighthearted interpretation. “You can always do what those assholes did…what were their names, those jerkoffs who fostered Carl and Liam for like, five seconds?”

          “What, adopt?” said Ian, incredulous and amused. “Yeah, you know, CFS is dying to give kids out to a Southside high school dropout and the thug boyfriend with ‘FUCK U-UP’ tattooed across his knuckles.”

          Lip laughed too, swiping Ian’s half-finished cigarette. “Hey, any institution who’d give us back to Frank three separate times is obviously dying to empty out their group homes.”

          “Yeah…”

          They fell silent again for a time, passing the cigarette back and forth until it was nothing but ashes left, and Ian tossed it next to Lip’s extinguished one on the sidewalk. They looked at each other and, following some silent agreement, turned to re-enter the house. Ian, who was taller than Lip nowadays, slung an arm around his brother’s shoulders.

          “You never know,” said Lip as they stepped over the threshold, “Maybe I’ll knock some poor girl up after all, and you and Mickey can have the kid.”

          Ian laughed, and Lip amended of what he had, just five minutes ago, been so sure.

          All fathers were useless, yes. But if their kids could turn out anything like his family, his friends—hell, even himself—he supposed there had to be something good in them.

          But maybe that was just the cigarette buzz talking.

**Author's Note:**

> not gonna lie, I'm not sure how I feel about this ending. I mean, this fic was more of a snapshot/character study about Lip's exes than some magical cure-all for his relationship issues, but I just don't know.
> 
> well, anyway. I've been meaning to write this for weeks, so I'm just relieved it's finally out there. thanks for reading!


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